THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


VERSES 


BY 

MARY  MOFFAT  CUNNINGHAM 


*     9 


BONNELL,  SILVER  &  CO. 

NEW    YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1908 

—BY— 

BONNELL,  SILVER  &  CO. 

NEW  YOEK 


VERSES 


TO  MY  MOTHER 

If  haply  vagrant  words  of  mine 
May  echo  some  fine  thought  of  thine 

I  shall  be  glad; 

But  if  a  wayward  mood  of  mine 
Should  wound  that  tender  heart  of  thine 

I  must  be  sad. 

How  patient  with  all  faults  of  mine, 
How  loyal  is  that  soul  of  thine! 

Without  a  fear 

I  offer  thee  this  verse  of  mine; 
With  that  sweet  mother-smile  of  thine 

Accept  it,  dear  I 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

VENICE 11 

MEMORY 14 

THE  WATER  CHILD 16 

ANTICIPATION 19 

BEREAVEMENT 21 

MOODS 23 

THE  CEDAR  THEE 25 

MY  BOAT 27 

DANIEL  BOONE 28 

JUNE  GALE 31 

THE  CHILD-LIKE  HEART 33 

PUSSY  WILLOWS 34 

LITTLE  MOTHER 36 

THE  FLUTE  PLAYER 38 

To  MELANIE 41 

HOME 43 

ELIZABETH'S  BIRTHDAY 44 

PHILOSOPHY 45 

THE  FAIRY  BALL 46 

A  DOGGEREL ,  52 

SHE  HID  HER  DREAMS 55 

MAKE  BELIEVE 56 

POLLY 57 

WHILE  SEMBRICH  SINGS 58 

IN  LILAC  TIME   59 

SHE  DROPPED  THE  ROSE 60 

WHEN  ETHEL  COMES ...  61 


PAGE 

BY  WIRELESS 62 

Now  AND  HERE 64 

JULY 66 

MY  LADY 67 

THE  VIOLINIST 70 

YONDERLAND 73 

UPLIFT  HILL 75 

DEATHLESSNESS 77 

OPPORTUNITY 79 

ARCADIA 80 

JOY 81 

FlREWEED 82 

SPRING 83 

WINTER 84 

LINES  SUGGESTED  BY  A  PORTRAIT  OF  Miss  SARAH  PORTER.  .  85 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH 86 

CELIA  THAXTER 87 

MADISON  J.  CAWEIN 88 

DAWN 89 

NOON 90 

TWILIGHT  AT  YORK  HARBOR 91 

STARLIGHT 92 

NIGHT 93 

GRIEF 94 

TRUST 95 

FAITH 96 

HOPE 97 

CHARITY 98 

FREEDOM  . .  99 


8 


VERSES 


VENICE 

ACROSS  the  vale  of  past  delight  I  gaze 

With  eyes  that  strain  to  pierce  the  baffling  haze 

That  now  reveals,  then  hides  thy  form  from 

me, 

Thou  fair  enchantress  of  the  eastern  sea! 
A  myriad  of  darting,  dancing  beams 
Converge  in  one  bright  spot  that  glows  and 

gleams ; 

San  Giorgio  at  sunset!    Can  it  be 
The  longed  for  vision  is  accorded  me? 
See  where  his  tall  red  tower  mounts  on  high! 
Watch  the  rich  colors  grow  and  multiply ! 
Pale    rose,    deep    orange,    fervid    gold,    and 

green — 

Where  else  are  hues  so  varied  ever  seen? 
Frail  palaces  appear  to  swim  in  air, 
And  phantom  islands  shine  suspended  there. 
Trace  in  the  distance  pale  Salute's  dome 
That  rises  like  a  bubble  born  of  foam! 
Around  it  hover  fitful  mists  that  float, 
And  through  the  light  there  drifts  one  drowsy 

boat 


11 


With  giant  umber  sails,  like  folded  wings, 
Aweary  with  the  strife  the  long  day  brings. 
A  faint  salt  scent  comes  from  the  far  lagoon, 
Precursor  of  the  breeze  to  follow  soon. 
A  hundred  bells  speed  on  departing  light! 
A  hundred  bells  peal  welcome  to  the  night! 
How  quickly  then  the  clang  and  clamor  cease, 
And  all  is  silence,  all  is  rest  and  peace! 
The  moon  behind  a  veil  attempts  to  hide 
Her  loveliness  from  sight,  as  some  shy  bride. 
The  blue-black  water  laps  against  a  pier; 
With   careless   grace   the   dextrous   boatmen 

steer. 

A  soft,  delicious  languor  everywhere, 
A  tumult  of  swift  words  that  cleave  the  air, 
A  happy  woman's  laughter  from  afar, 
A  lantern  flashing  like  a  mimic  star. 
Stali!    From  out  the  darkness  shrill  and  clear 
Rings  forth  the  warning  of  a  gondolier. 
A  tenor  voice,  a  light  guitar's  sweet  strain, 
The  echo  of  that  laughter  once  again! 
A  velvet  hand  by  someone  caught  and  kept, 
Fond  looks  of  love  no  night  can  intercept; 


12 


The  witchery  of  Spring  when  one  is  young, 

The  poetry  of  motion,  all  unsung. 

Glide  on,  true  lovers !    Quickly  youth  is  spent ! 

Sail  on,  to  gain  the  haven  of  content! 

So  many  souls  who  fail  that  port  to  win! 

Yours  be  the  bliss  of  those  who  enter  in! 


13 


MEMORY 

IT  never  seems  that  you  are  strange  to  me. 

Where  was  it  that  we  met  before? 
My  thoughts,  long  fettered,  struggle  to  be 
free; 

In  vain  they  beat  against  the  door 
Of  memory,  like  fingers  weak  and  white 
That  strive  to  draw  a  bolt  of  might. 

How  subtle  is  this  sense  of  memory, 
And  who  can  understand  the  power 

Which  hides  itself  deep  as  conspiracy, 
Or  with  the  perfume  of  a  flower 

Comes  flashing  for  an  instant  into  light, 

Then  disappears  in  blackest  night? 

Sometimes  a  strain  of  music  sweet  and  wild, 

Which  charms  me  into  ecstasy, 
Brings  recollections  of  a  little  child 

Who  in  a  garden  played  with  me. 
Were  you  my  chosen  comrade  long  ago? 
Were  you  that  child  I  used  to  know? 


Sometimes  the  quiet  touch  of  your  dear  hand 
Has  led  me  through  a  gate  of  dreams 

Into  a  far,  but  still  remembered  land. 
So  fair  and  beautiful,  it  seems, 

Indeed,  to  mortal,  earth-accustomed  eyes, 

The  entrance  way  to  Paradise. 

Sometimes  I  hear  a  rustle  in  the  trees, 

Where  Ariel  so  sweetly  sings; 
Then  softly  comes  a  whisper  with  the  breeze, 

Faint  as  the  whir  of  spirit  wings. 
I  listen  then  with  rapture  and  surprise 
Because  your  voice  I  recognize. 

Ah,  no,  you  surely  are  not  strange  to  me. 

Something  within  me  seems  to  say 
We  two  have  met  before,  on  land  or  sea, 

Long  ages  since,  or  yesterday 
Perchance.    What  matters  date,  or  name,  or 

place? 
Somewhere  I  met  you  face  to  face! 


15 


THE  WATER-CHILD 

AWEARY  of  the  stifling  inland  towns, 

I  crave  more  air,  more  space,  more  liberty; 

I  long  to  walk  the  wind-swept,  salt-brushed 

downs, 
To  gaze  with  rapture  on  the  boundless  sea; 

I  yearn  to  snatch  my  fill  of  it, 

To  catch  the  splendid  thrill  of  it, 

To  sip  the  fragrant  tang  of  it, 

To  hear  the  constant  clang  of  it, 

To  revel  in  the  health  of  it, 

The  satisfying  wealth  of  it, 

The  fierce  Titanic  might  of  it, 

The  fury  and  the  fight  of  it! 

Like  an  imprisoned  gull  I  chafe  and  sigh, 
And  beat  against  my  cage  incessantly, 

While  like  the  loosened  bird  my  thoughts  still 

fly 
On  wings  of  fancy  to  the  sounding  sea ; 

To  pulsate  with  the  mood  of  it, 

To  feel  the  plenitude  of  it, 

The  giant  onward  sweep  of  it, 


16 


The  stealthy  backward  creep  of  it, 
The  ghostly,  haunting  cry  of  it, 
The  everlasting  why  of  it, 
The  overwhelming  roar  of  it, 
The  whisperings  on  the  shore  of  it ! 

Of  all  delights  that  lavish  Nature  brings, 
I  count  the  first  her  ocean  symphony; 

Of  all  the  wistful  melodies  she  sings 
None  move  me  like  the  music  of  the  sea ! 

The  rhythmic  rise  and  fall  of  it, 

The  luring  siren  call  of  it, 

The  deep,  heartrending  moan  of  it, 

The  penetrating  tone  of  it, 

The  tireless,  beating  surge  of  it, 

The  melancholy  dirge  of  it, 

The  swinging,  ringing  bell  of  it, 

The  sailors'  tolling  knell  of  it! 

Deep  source  from  which  the  painters  draw  such 

themes 

As  mock  their  skill  and  ingenuity; 
What  artist  ever  caught  the  golden  gleams 
That  dance  and  sparkle  o'er  the  summer 
sea? 


17 


Not  one  can  find  the  green  of  it, 
Or  seize  the  silver  sheen  of  it, 
Or  show  the  sapphire  blue  of  it, 
The  rainbow  changing  hue  of  it, 
The  sudden,  startling  dash  of  it, 
The  unexpected  flash  of  it, 
The  misty,  mystic  haze  of  it, 
The  countless  subtle  ways  of  it! 


18 


ANTICIPATION 

(Irish  Coast) 
I 

ON  the  road  to  meet  my  lad 
'Tis  the  voice  o'  me  that's  glad, 
And  the  woman's  heart  within  me  laughs  and 

sings. 

Sure  I  need  no  jaunting  car, 
For  ten  miles  is  never  far 
When  sweet  love  is  after  lending  me  his  wings ! 


II 


'Twas  the  carrier  brought  word, 

And  he  told  me  how  he  heard 
That  the  ship  had  just  been  sighted  down  the 
bay. 

'Deed  I'll  see  my  lover  soon, 

With  good  luck  this  afternoon, 
Oh  my  feet  they  do  be  dancing  all  the  way! 


19 


Ill 

"Tis  to  plaze  him  I  am  drest 

In  my  finest  Sunday  best, 
With  a  little  sprig  o'  shamrock  in  my  hair; 

My  white  kerchief  is  brand  new, 

And  my  skirt  is  clean  and  blue, 
And  my  shoes  I  do  be  holding  them  with  care. 

IV 

Oh  the  soul  o'  me  is  gay! 
Was  there  ever  such  a  day? 
Why,  the  sun  can't  keep  from  smiling  in  his 

sky! 

All  the  flowers  nod  to  me, 
And  the  birds  chirp  cheerily, 
And  the  madcap  brook  shouts  loud  as  I  pass 
by! 

V 

'Tis  myself  will  reach  the  pier 
Long  before  the  boat  draws  near, 
And  belike  I'll  take  my  Larry  by  surprise. 
Och,  the  waving  o'  his  hand 
When  he  sees  me  where  I'll  stand! 
Och,  the  look  that  will  be  flashing  from  his 
eyes! 

20 


BEREAVEMENT 

I 

WHAT  is  this  ye're  telling  me? 

That  my  Larry's  drowned  at  sea, 
That  he  met  a  hero's  death — a  gallant  end. 

He  was  always  brave  and  kind — 

He  was  not  the  one  to  mind 
His  own  life,  if  he  could  only  save  a  friend. 

II 

Of  what  use  does  glory  be? 
'Tis  his  face  I  long  to  see, 
And  I  want  to  kiss  his  lips  just  once  again! 
Sure  I  need  no  saint  above, 
But  my  lad  alive — to  love — 
God  forgive  me!     I  am  mad  with  grief  and 
pain! 

Ill 

Do  ye  mind  the  curlew's  cry, 
And  the  mournful  wind's  deep  sigh, 
And  the  waves  that  sob  as  if  their  hearts  would 
break  ? 


21 


'Tis  because  they  heard  him  moan 
When  he  sank  out  there  alone, 
While  the  night  lit  stars  as  candles  for  his 
wake. 


IV 


Woe  is  me  that  was  not  there! 

And  he  thought  I  did  not  care — 
I  that  loved  him  so  and  hoped  to  be  his  bride! 

Troth  I'll  never  be  a  wife, 

Yet  a  widdy  all  my  life, 

For  my  joy  has  ebbed  this  day  just  like  the 
tide! 


A  glad  heart  loves  company, 

'Tis  alone  that  I  would  be, 
And  I  want  to  go  back  home  where  all  is  wild, 

To  the  tears  of  mist  and  fog, 

To  the  breath  of  friendly  bog, 
To  the  comfort  that  the  hills  will  give  their 
child! 


22 


MOODS 

I 

SOMBRE  grief  is  as  old  as  the  world  and  the 

woe 
That  was  felt  by  poor  mortals  long  eons  ago; 

A  mere  fragment  forlorn 

Of  a  page  blurred  and  torn, 
That  was  read  by  another  before  we  were  born. 

Like  a  link  in  a  chain  it  still  binds  hard  and 

fast 
To  the  sorrows  of  those  who  have  lived  in  the 

past; 

A  loose  strand  strung  with  tears, 
Baffled  hopes,  dismal  fears, 
But  a  line  that  has  lengthened  and  strength 
ened  with  years. 

Like  some  ponderous  weight  it  would  drag  us 

to  earth ; 

'Tis  the  obdurate  foe  of  all  innocent  mirth ; 
Pallid  sister  of  dread, 
How  it  wails  for  the  dead, 
As  the  night  when  the  light  into  darkness  has 
fled! 


/ 
23 


II 

Tender  joy  has  the  youth  of  the  faint  crescent 

moon ; 
'Tis  as  sweet  and  as  fresh  as  the  first  rose  of 

June. 

'Tis  a  bright  flashing  ray, 
Like  a  sunbeam  astray 

On  its  journey  through  space  that  has  wan 
dered  this  way. 

Those  who  gather  life's  manna  must  ever  make 

haste. 
If  we  mean  to  grasp  joy  there  is  no  time  to 

waste ; 

Yet  'tis  harder  to  seize 
Than  the  light  through  the  trees, 
Or  a  thistle  ball  blown  by  the  breath  of  a 
breeze. 

If  by  chance  we  obtain  it  and  wish  it  to  stay, 
There  is  only  one  plain  and  infallible  way: 

We  must  scatter  it  wide. 

It  will  turn  like  the  tide, 
For  to  those  who  give  joy,  it  comes  back  multi 
plied  ! 


THE  CEDAR  TREE 

I  KNOW  a  gaunt  old  cedar  tree 
That  grows  beside  the  sounding  sea, 
Where  waves  are  ever  threatening 
The  gnarled,  grotesque,  unsightly  thing 
With  ill-concealed  hostility. 

V 

The  querulous,  impatient  tide 
That  fails  to  reach  the  steep  hillside 

Has  some  deep  grievance  of  its  own, 

And  in  a  sullen  monotone 
Rebukes  the  hapless  tree  for  pride. 

Grim  elements  of  strength  conspire 
To  mock  and  jeer  with  cruel  ire — 
The  raging  storm  with  fury  blind, 
The  pelting  rain,  the  wanton  wind, 
The  rifting  frost,  the  red  sun's  fire ! 

It  seems  indeed  a  cheerless  lot 
To  fight  for  life  in  this  grim  spot, 
In  winter  stoned  by  ice  and  sleet, 
In  summer  scorched  by  cruel  heat, 
By  foes  pursued,  by  friends  forgot! 


25 


In  sheltered  fields  the  great  elms  grow 

Whose  grace  and  beauty  all  men  know : 

The  glory  of  this  bleak  hill's  crest 

Is  the  stanch  tree  I  love  the  best, 

The  cedar  with  its  head  bowed  low. 

To  bend  and  sway  is  not  to  break! 
Repeated  struggles  only  make 

The  soldier  stronger  to  resist. 

Mark  the  great  roots  that  twine  and  twist 
Around  that  rock  no  force  can  shake! 

When  marching  regiments  appear, 
The  ragged  flags  are  those  we  cheer ; 

Our  eyes  look  lovingly  upon 

The  thin  and  tattered  gonfalon, 
Torn  in  the  wars  year  after  year. 

All  honor  to  the  cedar  tree! 

Distorted,  marred,  yet  brave  and  free, 
It  lifts  a  battered  banner  high 
And  waves  the  ensign  toward  the  sky, 

Then  shakes  with  weird,  triumphant  glee. 


26 


MY  BOAT 

BEFORE  he  sails  upon  the  sea, 

A  fisherman  of  Brittany 
Will  kneel  to  say  this  simple  prayer : 
"Keep  me,  my  God,  my  boat  is  small, 

Thy  sea  is  wide.     Thou  rulest  all. 
Oh,  keep  me  ever  in  thy  care!" 

A  lonely  sail  is  gliding  by, 

One  distant  shape  I  just  descry, 

A  speck  of  white  where  cloud  meets  sea. 
It  brings  to  mind  the  sailor's  prayer, 
A  childlike  trust,  a  Father's  care, 

And  a  heart  that  is  blithe  and  free. 

This  human  life  for  you  and  me 

Is  like  the  wave-tossed,  boundless  sea. 

The  need  is  great,  but  weak  the  call. 
My  soul  is  yonder  struggling  bark, 
That  journeys  on  through  storm  and  dark. 

"Keep  me,  my  God!    My  boat  is  small!" 


DANIEL  BOONE 

A  BRAVE  man  wandered  in  a  wilderness, 

Unbroken  forest,  trackless,  dark  and  wide, 

Where  savage  beasts,  as  strong  and  pitiless 
As  hate,  lurked  in  the  gloom  on  either  side: 

Alert  and  keen  they  stood  with  bated  breath, 
And  giant  hunger  still  unsatisfied. 

One  careless  move  was  certain  to  mean  death! 

% 

More  daring  were  the  fiendish  human  foes 
Who  followed  hard  upon  the  white  man's 
track, 

And  any  verdant  fern-bank  might  disclose 
A  cruel  hand  uplifted  for  attack. 

With  ready  rifle,  and  with  watchful  eyes, 
He  hurried  on,  nor  turned  to  once  look  back, 

On  constant  guard  against  the  least  surprise. 

He  never  stooped  to  drink  from  limpid  lake, 
Or  placid  pool,  without  first  listening 

To  hear  a  red  man  crawling  through  the  brake, 
Or  furtive  footsteps  faintly  following. 


28 


He  looked  for  arrows  glinting  in  the  light, 
For    painted    warriors,    crouched    low    to 

spring; 

Still  on  he  pressed  with  neither  haste  nor 
fright. 


Boone  loved  a  life  of  action,  free  and  bold; 
Dangers  that  make  the  weakling  cringe  and 

quail 
Give  added  zest  to  heroes  of  his  mould. 

Strengthened  of  God  he  could  not  flinch  or 

fail; 
He  called  himself  a  chosen  instrument, 

And  where  he  found  no  path  he  blazed  a 

trail 
That  opened  half  a  mighty  continent. 


He  knew  the  plaintive  cry  of  whippoorwill 
Was  but  a  signal  in  the  gathering  gloom ; 
The  turkey's  call  went  through  him  with  a 
thrill— 


29 


An  old  device  to  lure  him  to  his  doom. 
.Sad  voices  whispered  to  the  sombre  trees 

As  twilight  fell,  when  listless  leaves  assume 
Strange  shapes,  and  tremble  in  the  quickened 
breeze. 

At  last  he  reached  a  fair  and  fertile  land 
Of  grass  and  groves  and  glades  and  singing 

streams, 

Where  Spring  had  lately  waved  a  magic  wand ; 
And  as  he  gazed  he  dreamt  prophetic  dreams 
Of  what  the  future  held; — deep  mysteries 
Shot  through  with  flitting  rays  of  truth,  like 

beams 
Of  golden  light  that  dance  in  darkest  trees. 

What  were  the  visions  of  this  pioneer? 

What  were  his  thoughts  in  those  long,  lonely 

days? 
Was  his  strange  prescience  strong  enough  and 

clear 

To  see  Kentucky  rising  through  the  haze, 
A  noble  Commonwealth,  the  nation's  pride, 
Whose  gallant  sons  and  daughters  sing  her 

praise 
And  spread  her  growing  glory  far  and  wide? 

30 


JUNE  GALE 

I  LISTEN  to  the  sound  of  hurtling  rain 

That  beats  against  the  pane; 

And  to  the  wind — almost  a  hurricane — 

That  shrieks  in  divers  keys, 

And  imprecates  the  cowed,  defenseless  trees. 

Discordant  voices  strive  to  pierce  the  sky; 

Anon  a  plaintive  cry 

As  of  an  outcast  soul  that  cannot  die, 

Condemned  through  endless  years 

To  expiate  his  sin  with  groans  and  tears. 

I  hear  the  mocking  laughter  of  the  sea, 

Who  pounds  with  cruel  glee 

The  angry  rock,  his  ancient  enemy. 

Primordial  hate  and  strife 

Decreed  to  last  throughout  a  planet's  life! 

The  thunder,  fiercest  demon  of  the  air, 

Has  left  his  hidden  lair, 

And  lightning  issues  forth  with  vivid  glare, 

Or  fiery,  zigzag  chain; 

Look  yonder  where  it  comes !    See  there  again ! 


31 


Grim  things  inanimate  are  wide  awake; 

I  feel  the  cottage  shake, 

The  casements  shiver,  and  the  rafters  quake; 

While  darkness,  like  a  pall, 

Descends  in  sullen  silence  round  us  all. 

The  house-dog  whines  and  crouches  at  my  feet ; 

I  hear  the  maid  repeat 

A  Pater  nosier;  in  the  chimney  seat 

Two  children  wail  with  fright. 

God  pity  farers  on  the  sea  this  night! 


32 


THE  CHILD-LIKE  HEART 

THE  sweetest  sound  we  hear  on  earth 

Is  the  laughter  of  a  child, 
That  joyous  burst  of  guileless  mirth 

From  a  source  still  undefiled. 
Sometimes  through  vistas  grey  with  years 

We  may  catch  its  mellow  trace — 
The  merriment  that  reappears 

On  a  kind  old  woman's  face; 
One  whose  long  day  is  almost  spent, 

One  who  knows  life's  pain  and  smart, 
And  yet  can  smile  with  glad  content — 

For  she  keeps  the  child-like  heart. 


33 


PUSSY-WILLOWS 

THE  buds  can  speak!    I  bend  to  hear 

Their  simple  words  of  kindly  cheer. 

They  tell  of  birds  and  grass  and  flowers, 

Of  running  brooks,  of  vernal  flowers. 

What  do  the  pussy-willows  say? 

Just  this:     "Sweet  Spring  is  on  her  way." 


Each  bud  enwraps  a  mystery 

Of  life  returning,  full  and  free; 

Of  fear  grown  old,  of  hope  born  new, 

A  dream  of  love  somewhere  come  true. 

What  do  the  pussy-willows  say? 

Just  this:     "Sweet  Spring  is  on  her  way." 


Below  the  ice  the  streams  still  flow, 

Within  the  earth  the  daisies  grow; 

Now  swallows  speed  across  the  sky — 

Look  out  for  thrushes  by-and-bye! 

What  do  the  pussy-willows  say? 

Just  this:     "Sweet  Spring  is  on  her  way." 


34 


To  hearts  that  mourn,  alone  and  sad, 

The  joyous  buds  cry  out  "Be  glad! 

The  Spring  is  not  the  time  to  weep ; 

What  you  call  death  is  only  sleep!" 

What  do  the  pussy-willows  say? 

Just  this:     "Sweet  Spring  is  on  her  way.' 


35 


LITTLE  MOTHER 

LITTLE  mother,  sweet  and  brave, 
Carrying  your  baby  brother ; 

Gentle  sister,  pale  and  grave, 
Always  working  for  another  > 
Mending,  scrubbing, 
Washing,  rubbing, 

Waking  early,  toiling  late, 
Patient,  cheerful, 
Never  tearful, 

Uncomplaining  of  your  fate, 
Life's  hard  burden, 
Without  guerdon ; 

Heaven  help  you,  little  mother! 


Well  you  earn  a  holiday! 

Let  me  watch  the  baby  brother! 
I  should  love  to  see  you  play. 
Run,  dear,  just  as  any  other 
Happy  child  should 
To  the  wildwood ! 
Spend  the  rare  and  sunny  hours 


Of  your  outing, 

Romping,  shouting; 
From  the  grass,  and  trees,  and  flowers 

Gather  pleasure 

Without  measure ! 
Blessings  on  you,  little  mother! 


THE  FLUTE  PLAYER 

Do  YOU  see  the  poor  man  as  he  stands  in  the 

rain? 
Do  you  hear  when  he  plays  his  old-fashioned 

refrain? 

Do  you  mark  that  he  frequently  pauses  to  rest, 
That  he  coughs,  that  he  buttons  his  coat  round 

his  chest? 

How  the  mischievous  wind  lifts  his  silvery  hair? 
How  his  thin  fingers  tremble?    Does  any  one 

care? 

One,  two,  three  and  again! 
How  it  beats  in  the  brain ! 

Just  one  hurrying  stranger,  who  tosses  a  dime, 
Cries,  "I'm  sorry,  my  friend,  but  I  have  not 

the  time. 
These  long  strikes  are  too  common.    What !  no 

work  to  do? 

You  are  sure  to  be  helped  if  your  story  is  true !" 

And  he  goes  on  his  way,  like  the  Levite  of  old. 

How  absurd  for  a  man  to  play  out  in  the  cold ! 

One,  two,  three  and  again! 

Why,  the  fellow's  insane! 

38 


For,  alas!  who  may  know  that  this  man  in  the 

rain 
Has  just  left  his  one  child  on  a  sick-bed  of 

pain? 
Long  the  father  stood  watching  her,  dry-eyed 

and  mute; 
Then  he  reached  for  his  hat  and  he  picked  up 

his  flute, 
And  he  ran  in  his  anguish  far  down  the  dark 

street ; 
He  plays  there  for  love's  sake.  Hear  the  waltz, 

sad  and  sweet! 

One,  two,  three  and  again! 
There  are  tears  in  the  strain ! 


He  has  chosen  a  house  that  looks  cheerful  and 

bright ; 
He  can  see  the  dim  figures  that  cross  in  the 

light. 
There  are  children  who  dance  to  the  time  of  the 

air 
Which  he  thrums  with  the  courage  of  helpless 

despair. 


39 


There's  a  form  at  the  window — a  trim  servant 

maid — 

O,  my  God !    She  is  coming  to  draw  down  the 
shade. 

One,  two,  three  and  again! 
All  his  labor  in  vain ! 


40 


TO  MELANIE 

LONG  years  ago,  two  little  girls, 

We  sat  together  on  one  stool; 
You  chose  me  for  my  dark-brown  curls, 

And  I  chose  you  one  day  in  school. 

I  chose  you  for  your  steadfast  eyes, 
Which  gazed  in  mine  so  candidly. 

The  childish  mind  is  strangely  wise; 
How  well  I  read  you,  Melanie! 

A  friendship  founded  on  the  rock 

Of  confidence  is  sure  to  last. 
We  warrant  ours  to  stand  the  shock 

Of  future  storms,  as  in  the  past. 

What  fun  we've  had,  what  happy  talks! 

What  interchange  of  pleasant  thought! 
What  rides  and  drives,  and  woodland  walks! 

What  plans  discussed,  and  counsel  sought ! 

Your  love  is  like  a  swallow's  nest, 

From  which  he  takes  his  fearless  flight; 

A  sheltered  spot  for  peaceful  rest, 
Where  he  returns  with  keen  delight. 


41 


Although  I  seldom  see  your  face 

(Our  roads  wind  many  miles  apart), 

Still  I  am  sure  you  keep  my  place 
In  some  warm  corner  of  your  heart. 

Propinquity  must  serve  for  those 
Who  feel  affection  insecure. 
Absence  and  time  are  deadly  foes 
Of  make-believe.    Our  bond  is  sure! 

Fate  made  us  friends  for  life,  you  know. 

There's  something  in  affinity! 
'Twas  not  by  chance  long  years  ago 

That  I  chose  you,  and  you  chose  me! 


42 


HOME 

"WHERE  is  your  home?"  a  stranger  said, 
As  he  bent  low  to  touch  the  head 

Of  a  bewitching  child. 
"Poor  stupid  man,  why,  don't  you  see, 
Where  Mother  is,  there's  home !"  cried  she ; 
And  charmingly  she  smiled. 


43 


ELIZABETH'S  BIRTHDAY 

SINCE  you  are  six  and  I  am  too, 
I  wish  to  ask  something  of  you : 
How  old  are  both  together? 
Ah,  how  I  wonder  whether 
You  can  tell  me  the  answer  true, 
Since  you  are  six  and  I  am  too ! 


PHILOSOPHY 

MY  learned  friend,  Professor  Mars, 
Took  great  delight  in  watching  stars. 
Once  when  he  fell  and  hurt  his  head, 
What  do  you  think  this  old  man  said? 

"How  fortunate  I  am!"  cried  he. 

"What  fools  call  pain  is  bliss  to  me! 
For  I  still  see  stars!" 
Quoth  the  prostrate  Mars. 


THE  FAIRY  BALL 

(For  Little  People) 

I 

COME,  my  children,  draw  chairs  near, 

Those  of  you  who  wish  to  hear 

About  the  famous  fairy  ball. 

Sit  in  a  ring!    Make  room  for  all! 

I  was  not  there,  for,  don't  you  see, 

They  never  thought  of  asking  me. 

Was  it  last  night,  or  long  ago? 

No  questions,  please !    I  do  not  know. 

'Twas  told  me  by  the  Chickadee 

And  he  abhorred  accuracy; 

He  said  such  words  as  "where"  and  "when' 

Are  only  used  by  stupid  men. 

It  was  a  fete  the  Fairy  Queen 

Gave  for  her  daughter,  just  eighteen. 

"That  much,"  he  said,  "is  strictly  true," 

Then  raised  his  wings  and  off  he  flew. 

Now,  dear  children,  if  you  will 

Hear  the  tale,  keep  very  still ! 


II 

The  fire-flies  hung  their  lanterns  low; 

Wee  gnomes  made  preparations ; 
They  set  the  toad-stools  in  a  row 

For  fays  and  their  relations. 

The  bluebells  rang  at  twelve  o'clock 
To  call  the  guests  together; 

The  birds  came  first — a  merry  flock — 
The  moon  arranged  the  weather. 

The  flowers  came  disguised  as  elves, 
Alluring,  gay,  and  spritely. 

"I  hope  you  will  enjoy  yourselves," 
Their  hostess  said  politely. 

A  frog  appeared,  arrayed  in  green; 

He  brought  the  toad,  his  cousin ; 
A  lizard  crawled  upon  the  scene, 

And  beetles  by  the  dozen. 

A  cock  and  hens  were  there,  although 
Their  presence  was  surprising; 

They  do  not  care  for  balls,  you  know, 
But  dote  on  early  rising. 


47 


The  poodle-dog  made  quite  a  stir, 
Then  came  two  cats  with  kittens; 

The  mothers  wore  their  best  brushed  fur, 
The  kits  of  course  wore  mittens. 

Two  rabbits  and  a  long-eared  hare 
Came  bounding  to  the  party ; 

Chipmunks  and  squirrels  too  were  there, 
With  manners  free  and  hearty. 

The  fish  came  last,  a  wriggling  crowd, 

To  dance  a  merry  measure, 
But  one  old  flounder,  stiff  and  proud, 

Remarked,  with  great  displeasure: 

"We  Flounders  draw  a  strict  fish-line. 

I  feel  my  honor  slighted! 
If  asked  I  shall  at  once  decline 

To  meet  these  cats  benighted." 

"Now  I  am  very  fond  of  fish," 

Said  one  Maltese,  discreetly; 
"And  Flounder  is  my  favorite  dish," 

Added  her  sister,  sweetly. 


48 


"Oh,  dear!     Oh,  dear!"  cried  Fairy  Queen, 
"My  dance  must  not  prove  tragic"; 

And  so  she  touched  her  guests  unseen 
With  Fairies'  Patent  Magic. 

Then  all  were  friends  or  seemed  to  be 

Until  the  ball  was  over. 
Miss  Wild  Rose  danced  with  Chickadee, 

And  Robin  with  Hop  Clover. 

Old  Lobster  reeled  with  Mullen-stock, 

A.  Beetle  with  Miss  Pansy; 
The  Cod  Fish  chose  the  Hollyhock, 

The  Pike  a  sprig  of  Tansy. 

They  say  the  belle  was  Bouncing  Bess, 
Who  jigged  with  young  Wood  Pecker; 

She  danced  all  night,  I  must  confess, 
And  no  one  there  could  check  her. 

The  beau  was  plainly  A.  Blue  Jay, 

Good  dancer,  and  a  dandy; 
He  fell  in  love  with  Fairy  Fay, 

And  fed  her  sugar  candy. 


The  band  was  led  by  Tiny  Elf, 

Sand  Piper  helped  him  gladly ; 
The  fiddler  Crab  outdid  himself, 

And  Trumpet-flower  played  madly. 

The  Tree-toads  sang  with  all  their  might, 

And  from  the  bosky  thickets 
The  wee,  weird  insects  of  the  night 

Chirped  with  the  crooning  Crickets. 

They  drank  fresh  dew  in  rose-leaf  cups, 
Ajnd  ate  bread-crumbs  and  honey; 

The  wise  old  Owl  took  dainty  sups, 
And  he  looked  very  funny. 

It  was  indeed  a  brilliant  ball, 

And  everybody  thought  so. 
The  elfin  hosts  were  kind  to  all, 

For  fairies  have  been  taught  so. 

With  the  first  golden  streak  of  dawn 
A  watchful  gnome,  the  sentry, 

Gave  one  expressive,  warning  yawn; 
Then  fairies  vanished  gently. 


50 


So  gently  that  the  morning  sun, 
Who  rose  in  all  his  glory, 

Saw  not  a  trace  of  any  one, 
And  never  heard  my  story. 


51 


A  DOGGEREL 

(Written  to  the  authoress  of  "The  Cat") 

IT  seems  to  me,  dear  lady,  that 
You  somewhat  over-rate  the  cat, 
A  playful  pet,  I  must  admit, 
But  can  one  love  her?    Not  a  bit! 

The  very  name  suggests,  you  see, 
A  being  full  of  perfidy. 
Just  call  your  dearest  foe  "a  cat!" 
And  find  out  what  she  thinks  of  that! 

We  read  sometimes  of  cataplasms, 
Of  cataleptic  fits  or  spasms, 
Of  catacombs,  dark,  creepy  places, 
And  catamounts  who  scratch  men's  faces. 

Who  likes  to  learn  the  catechism? 
A  dreadful  flood's  a  cataclysm. 
When  dire  disaster  threatens,  we 
All  speak  of  dread  catastrophe. 


52 


These  few  examples  surely  teach 

That  those  who  formed  the  English  speech 

Began  their  meanest  words  with  "cat." 

Profound  significance  in  that ! 

i 

A  dog  was  changed  into  a  star, 
Old  Sirius,  who  shines  afar; 
But  change  a  cat  and  you  will  see 
A  caterpillar — probably. 

Each  dog,  we  know,  must  have  his  day, 
But  in  the  night  the  cat  holds  sway. 
She  wails  and  sings  in  every  key 
And  renders  life  long  misery. 

What  boots  to  throw  your  shoes  at  her? 
The  horrid  creature  will  not  stir! 
She  simply  glares  with  scornful  eyes 
Whose  hateful  glitter  I  despise. 

An  egotist,  of  course!    No  touch 
Of  sentiment  for  her!    No  such 
Delightful,  subtle  flattery 
As  any  cur  gives  courteously! 


53 


I  love  my  dog,  my  dog  loves  me, 
And  that  makes  reciprocity! 
One  good  plain  dog  to  me  is  worth 
Far  more  than  all  the  cats  on  earth. 


"SHE  HID  HER  DREAMS" 

SHE  hid  her  dreams  within  a  shell 

That  sailed  far  out  to  sea, 
But  one  glad  dream  she  loved  full  well 

Returned  persistently. 

She  gave  her  dream  most  tender  care 
And  wore  it  next  her  heart; 

With  Cupid's  cord  she  bound  it  there 
And  pinned  it  with  his  dart. 

She  begged  of  it  awhile  to  stay 
To  share  her  hopes  and  fears. 

Alack!    One  doleful,  dismal  day 
The  dream  dissolved  in  tears. 

'Twas  no  more  faithful  than  the  rest; 

With  them  it  vanished  too. 
And  yet — and  yet — she  loved  the  best 

This  dream  that  proved  untrue. 


55 


"MAKE-BELIEVE" 

(Rondel) 

I  NEVER  find,  like  Peter  Pan, 
That  sylvan  land  of  make-believe, 

Far  from  the  worries  known  to  man, 

From  thorns  that  prick,  from  wounds  that 
grieve. 

Although  I  dwell  where  fairies  weave 
Their  spells,  and  beg  to  join  their  clan, 
I  never  find,  like  Peter  Pan, 

That  sylvan  land  of  make-believe. 

Alas !  no  grown-up  person  can 

Find  out  what  children  all  perceive 

Without  an  effort,  scheme,  or  plan! 
Although  I  search  from  dawn  till  eve, 

I  never  find,  like  Peter  Pan, 

That  sylvan  land  of  make-believe! 


56 


TOLLY" 

(Rondel) 

WHAT  could  I  do  but  fall  in  love 
With  Polly  when  she  passed  to-day? 

Could  any  man  that  you  know  of 
Resist  her  if  she  glanced  his  way? 

As  well  resist  a  bud  of  May 

That  flutters  from  the  branch  above! 
What  could  I  do  but  fall  in  love 

With  Polly  when  she  passed  to-day? 

I  followed  meekly  as  a  dove, 

Resolved  to  own  her  sovereign  sway, 

And  as  I  bent  to  kiss  her  glove 
I  vowed  to  be  her  knight  alway!    * 

What  could  I  do  but  fall  in  love 
With  Polly  when  she  passed  to-day? 


'WHILE  SEMBRICH  SINGS" 

(Rondeau) 

WHILE  Sembrich  sings  how  soon  we  see 
The  crowd  lean  forward  eagerly, 
As  loth  to  lose  one  dazzling  note 
That  flashes  from  her  wondrous  throat- 
A  meteor  of  melody ! 

Sometimes  with  pathos,  oft  with  glee, 
She  acts  her  part.    It  seems  to  be 
All  done  for  love,  not  played  by  rote, 
While  Sembrich  sings. 

Mistress  of  art,  we  quite  agree! 
She  sets  the  jaded  fancy  free. 
A  thousand  happy  spirits  float 
On  waves  of  sound  to  realms  remote, 
And  life  becomes  a  tranquil  sea 
While  Sembrich  sings ! 


58 


"IN  LILAC  TIME" 

(Rondeau) 

IN  lilac  time  I  hear  the  cry 

Of  passing  vendors,  shrill  and  high, 

And  suddenly  the  city  street 

Is  filled  with  fragrance  subtly  sweet, 

And  evanescent  as  my  sigh. 

Would  that  I  might  just  once  defy 
A  cruel  fate !    I  wonder  why 
I'm  doomed  to  pine  in  noise  and  heat 
In  lilac  time? 

At  least  untrammeled  thought  may  fly 
To  that  old  home  of  years  gone  by 
Where  there  was  one  who  used  to  meet 
Me  at  the  gate,  and  sometimes  greet 
Me  with  a  kiss,  when  I  drew  nigh 
In  lilac  time. 


59 


"SHE  DROPPED  THE  ROSE" 

(Rondeau) 

SHE  dropped  the  rose  she  wore  to-night, 
The  pale  pink  rose,  half  hid  from  sight 
Beneath  a  film  of  creamy  lace, 
That  added  just  a  touch  of  grace 
To  her  soft  gown  of  purest  white. 

She  waltzed,  of  course,  with  keen  delight. 
I  do  not  dance,  but  felt  no  spite, 
For,  as  she  swiftly  passed  my  place, 
She  dropped  the  rose. 

She  flirted  with  a  score — yes,  quite! 
She  flitted  by  me  like  a  sprite, 
Without  a  tremor,  not  a  trace 
Of  recognition  in  her  face; 
Yet  I  can  swear  I  saw  aright, 
She  dropped  the  rose! 


60 


"WHEN  ETHEL  COMES" 

(Rondeau) 

WHEN  Ethel  comes,  the  sound  her  feet 
Make  on  the  stair  is  soft  and  sweet ; 
Her  brown  hair  curls  distractingly, 
Her  lovely  face  is  fair  to  see, 
Her  presence  makes  my  joy  complete! 

And  yet  I'm  silent  when  we  meet. 
How  strange  it  is  that  hearts  will  beat, 
And  men  will  tremble  at  the  knee, 
When  Ethel  comes! 

She  looks  demure  and  most  discreet. 
"Good  evening.    Pray  take  a  seat." 
Are  these  few  words  to  frighten  me, 
A  college  athlete,  six  feet  three? 
I  will  speak  now — or  else  retreat 
When  Ethel  comes! 


61 


BY  WIRELESS 

GREY  gulls  that  can  fly, 
Swift  clouds  in  the  sky, 

Tireless  waves  of  a  midsummer  sea; 
Soft  breeze  from  the  west, 
Oh,  heed  my  request! 

Will  you  carry  a  message  from  me? 


You  fortunate  Moon 
To  see  him  so  soon 

On  his  long  journey  home  from  Bombay! 
Faint  shimmering  star, 
You  shine  from  so  far, 

Do  you  think  you  can  show  him  the  way? 


Thoughts  travel,  they  say; 
I  send  mine  to-day, 

For  a  ship  must  be  easy  to  find ! 
Speed  on !    Let  him  know 
The  words  sweet  and  low 

As  I  scatter  them  now  to  the  wind ! 


62 


I  think  of  him  yet, 
I  never  forget, 

For  my  love  is  as  deep  as  the  sea ; 
As  strong  and  as  sure — 
'Twill  ever  endure. 

Who  will  carry  the  message  for  me? 


63 


NOW  AND  HERE 

(Ballade) 

THE  grumbler  and  the  pessimist 

Lament  an  age  degenerate: 
The  times  are  evil,  they  persist 

In  telling  us,  and  preach  and  prate 

Of  discontent,  and  racial  hate. 
Alack!    Despite  their  words  severe, 

They  deem  themselves  most  fortunate 
To  live  their  lives  just  now  and  here. 


The  gentle  poets  will  insist 

In  praising  days  when  men  were  great 
As  gods,  and  women — seen  through  mellow 

mist- 
Were  wondrous  fair ;  they  celebrate 
Romance  and  chivalry,  relate 
Brave  deeds,  old  ruins  they  revere, 

Yet  much  prefer — I  frankly  state- 
To  live  their  lives  just  now  and  here. 


The  critics,  with  their  artful  twist 
Of  words,  attack  our  faults,  await 

The  hour  to  flay — perhaps  bridge-whist, 
Or  motor-cars  precipitate, 
Or  modern  greed — they  deprecate 

All  these  and  more.    They  too  (how  queer!) 
Have  meekly  compromised  with  fate 

To  live  their  lives  just  now  and  here. 


ENVOY 

Queen  of  my  heart,  with  mien  sedate, 
And  eyes  of  blue,  so  kind,  so  dear, 

I  love  but  you,  nor  hesitate 

To  live  my  life  just  now  and  here! 


65 


JULY 


A  FIELD  of  golden  rye, 
Red  poppies  growing  high, 
Corn-flowers  so  blue  they  vie 
In  color  with  the  sky ; 
Two  jet-black  crows  that  fly, 
Glad  reapers  passing  by, 
A  saucy  girl's  bright  eye, 
A  droning  cricket's  cry, 
A  drowsy  zephyr's  sigh — 
All  these  are  reasons  why 
I  love  thee,  fair  July! 


66 


MY  LADY 

(Song) 

'Tis  bleak  December  in  my  heart 

When  she  is  far  away, 
But  when  my  lady  comes  again 

She  brings  the  gladsome  May. 
'Tis  blackest  night  within  my  heart 

When  she  is  far  away, 
But  when  my  lady  comes  again 

How  bright  and  fair  the  day! 
The  dull  hours  drag  through  dreary  days 

When  she  is  far  away, 
But  when  my  lady  comes  again, 
Swift  time  will  never  stay. 
When  she  is  gone 
I  am  forlorn; 
Birds  will  not  sing, 
Bells  do  not  ring, 
Hushed  is  my  song; 
Life  is  all  wrong 
When  she  is  gone ! 


Life's  roses  wound  with  unseen  thorns 

When  she  is  far  from  me, 
But  when  my  lady  comes  again, 

Darts  lose  their  poignancy! 
My  bells  all  jangle  out  of  tune 

When  she  is  far  from  me, 
But  when  my  lady  comes  again, 

How  sweetly  they  agree! 
My  longing  seems  an  idle  dream 

When  she  is  far  from  me, 
But  when  my  lady  comes  again, 

Love  is  reality! 


68 


When  she  is  near, 
Then  Spring  is  here! 
Then  work  is  play, 
Then  hearts  are  gay, 
Nought  can  annoy, 
All  is  pure  joy 
When  she  is  near! 


69 


THE  VIOLINIST 

HE  stood  a  moment  watching  the  vast  throng, 
Impatient  for  the  wild  uproar  to  cease, 
The  loud  applause  that  always  greeted  him, 
The  idol  of  the  hour,  its  last  caprice; 
And  as  he  gazed  he  thought,  with  humor  grim : 
"I  search  for  hearts  to  win  them  with  a  song." 

Gently  as  zephyrs  stir  a  field  of  wheat 
He  moved  his  listeners,  for  he  was  wise; 
He  would  not  startle  them;  yet  as  he  played 
Their  tensioned  nerves  relaxed,  and  faded  eyes 
Looked  young  again,  and  grey  heads  swayed 
In  rhythmic  time  to  measure  soft  and  sweet. 

Now  swift  notes   fall  like  rain   and   trickle 

through 

His  pliant  fingers  in  delicious  showers, 
Bewildering,  entrancing,  ravishing! 
The  spirit  of  the  summer  stirs,  and  flowers 
Exhale  their  redolence,  and  wood  birds  sing; 
The  glory  of  the  earth  is  born  anew! 


70 


The  melody  mounts  like  a  flame ;  it  seems 
That  fire  and  tone  and  color  interblend, 
Unite  to  weave  a  spell;  and  yet  not  all 
Perceive  the  charm,  not  all  can  comprehend, 
For  each  must  vibrate  to  his  heart's  own  call, 
And  each  must  hear  the  echo  of  his  dreams. 


He  plays  to  one  poor  lonely  country  lad, 
Friend-hungry  in  the  city's  careless  crowd, 
And  in  his  thoughts  the  youth  is  home  once 

more, 
He  sees  the  old  folks  standing,  pleased  and 

proud, 

To  welcome  him,  the  neighbors  at  the  door, 
And  hears  the  shouts  of  children  gay  and  glad. 


A  woman  hears  the  sobbing  strings,  with  soul 
Rebellious,  restless,  eager  to  be  free 
From  hated  heritage  of  world- wide  woe; 
To  her  the  music  is  a  potent  plea 
To  rise  above  despair;  the  adagio 
Means  sacrifice  of  self,  One  for  the  whole. 


71 


Another  listens  to  the  waves  of  sound 

That  break  on  reefs  of  unrequited  toil. 

O  splendid  chords  of  triumph!     Truth  shall 

win! 

Above  the  conflict  and  the  mad  turmoil 
He  hears  the  message  of  the  violin: 
Fight  on,  nor  fear!    A  way  shall  yet  be  found! 

How  marvelous  a  great  musician's  power, 
That  lesser  men  indeed  know  nothing  of! 
The  master  touches  grief — oh,  wonderful! — 
And  by  some  subtle  alchemy  of  love 
Transmutes  it  into  joy  ineffable. 
He  grants  men  happiness  for  one  brief  hour! 

Too  soon,  alas!  the  precious  time  is  spent! 

Reluctantly  we  turn  to  earth  again, 

The  violin  is  mute,  we  go  our  way; 

Yet  lingering  memories  shall  still  remain, 

Recurring  cadences  that  some  dull  day 

Will  flood  the  room  with  sunshine  and  content. 


YONDERLAND 

(Scotch  Mother  and  Child) 

"SHALL  we  ever  reach  the  shore  of  yonderland? 

Whiles  it  seems  so  far  away, 
And  I  catch  no  glimmer  of  the  golden  strand 

Where  the  night  is  changed  to  day." 

"Child  of  mine,  your  soul  shall  reach  the  yon 
derland, 

Though  your  body  turns  to  dust; 
There  are  mony  things  we  canna  understand; 

We  maun  hope,  dear  lad,  and  trust." 

"Shall  I  find  you,  mither,  in  the  yonderland? 

Shall  I  see  your  loving  face? 
I'll  be  searching  for  you  'mid  that  angel  band; 

I'll  be  looking  through  the  place." 

"We  shall  be  togither  in  the  yonderland, 

Hae  nae  fear,  my  son,  nae  fear; 
I  shall  see  the  bairn  I  love,  and  touch  his  hand, 

Just  the  same  in  heaven  as  here." 


73 


"Are  the  puir  folk  welcome  to  the  yonderland, 

Lowly  ones,  like  you  and  me? 
You  hae  told  me  that  the  House  is  uncoo 
grand ; 

Who  will  pay  the  entrance  fee?" 

"There's  rejoicing  in  the  happy  yonderland 
When  one  sinner  turns  toward  hame ; 

For  the  King  Himself  has  given  the  command, 
All  go  in  who  plead  His  Name." 


UPLIFT  HILL 

WHEN  the  golden  sun  is  sinking  in  the  west, 

Then  I  love  best 
From  the  occupations  of  a  busy  day 

To  steal  away, 
And  to  seek  a  rocky  ledge  upon  the  hill, 

Just  to  be  still; 
Just  to  listen  in  the  silence  for  God's  voice, 

And  to  rejoice 
In  the  beauty  of  the  earth  and  sky  and  sea 

Surrounding  me. 

Well  I  love  my  Angelus,  brief  hour  of  prayer, 

When  free  from  care 

For  a  space  my  soul  takes  leave  of  earth-born 
things 

And  mounts  on  wings. 
Indefinable,  vague  longings  stir  my  breast 

With  sweet  unrest, 

And  the  upward  path  toward  heaven  shines  so 
clear 

While  I  am  here 
That  I  would,  like  Peter,  build  a  tent  and  stay 

Far  from  the  fray. 

75 


On  the  heights  it  seems  so  easy  to  be  good 

And  understood, 
But  how  difficult,  alas!  to  pray  and  praise 

Through  common  days ! 
Let  me  gain  an  inspiration  on  the  hill 

To  do  God's  will 
On  the  level  plain,  amid  the  stir  and  strife 

Of  human  life; 
Let  me  try  with  cheerful  courage  in  my  heart 

To  do  my  part 

In  the  lowlands,  where  the  conflict  must  be 
fought 

In  deed  and  thought. 


76 


DEATHLESSNESS 

OUR  discontent  with  this  world's  empty  show 
Is  but  the  instinct  of  immortal  life. 

We  grow  so  weary  here  because  we  know 
A  realm  of  rest  beyond  the  toil  and  strife. 

Each  victory  leaves  something  unattained; 

Defeated  in  the  fight  we  still  aspire; 
Each  problem  solved  brings  thousands  unex 
plained  ; 

Through  mysteries  we  learn  to  climb  up 
higher. 

Ofttimes  we  follow  messengers  of  pain, 

Ofttimes  the  drooping  forms  of  bitter  woe, 

As  surely  as  we  fall  we  rise  again, 
Forever  upward  still  impelled  to  go. 

Insatiable  hunger  gnaws  the  soul 

In  search  of  food  God  only  can  supply. 

We  grope  like  blind  men  seeking  for  a  goal; 
One  happy  day  we  shall  find  wings  and  fly. 


77 


Oh  then  imprisoned  serfs  of  time  and  flesh 
Shall  breathe  a  heavenly  ether  long  denied, 

In  garments  of  the  King  all  clothed  afresh, 
Alive,  awake,  alert,  and  satisfied! 


78 


OPPORTUNITY 

"WHAT  chance  have  I  to  win  renown  or  place? 

My  best  endeavors  come  to  naught,"  he  said, 

And  wearily  he  bowed  his  tired  head, 
A  beaten  runner,  distanced  in  life's  race ; 
Nor  lifted  he  his  sad,  discouraged  face 

In  time  to  see  the  maid  who  quickly  sped 

Across  his  path  with  lithe  and  noiseless  tread, 
And  beckoned  ere  she  vanished  into  space. 
Such  visions  bright  are  neither  strange  nor 
rare 

To  those  who  watch  and  wait  expectantly; 
They  lurk  in  dusky  woods,  they  float  in  air, 

They  rise  from  depths  of  earth,  they  swim 

the  sea; 
But  men  must  hope,  not  yield  to  grim  despair, 

If  they  would  capture  opportunity. 


79 


ARCADIA 

WE  wandered  forth  together  once  in  Spring, 
When  earth  was  young  and  all  her  children 

free; 

Before  the  days  of  toil  for  you  and  me, 
Before  the  days  of  priest,  or  book,  or  ring. 
We  swore  no  fealty  then  to  any  king, 
But  worshipped  Pan,  the  god  in  Arcady, 
Yet  craved  no  boon  of  him  save  unity. 
'Twas  joy  enough  to  live,  to  laugh,  to  sing, 
To  watch  the  flying  birds,  to  pluck  bright 

flowers, 
To  dance  when  shepherds  piped,  from 

sheer  delight, 

To  follow  fast  where  pleasure  led  the  way 
Through  shining  labyrinths  of  golden  hours; 
We  knew  no  wisdom  fraught  with  pain  or 

fright 
When  life  was  still  a  lovers'  holiday. 


80 


JOY 

TO-DAY  I  watched  a  graceful  little  boy 
Who  eagerly  pursued  a  butterfly, 
And  stretched  forth  futile,  baby  hands  to 
try 

To  catch  this  lightest  breath  of  transient  joy; 

Yet  ere  he  turned  to  seek  some  new  employ 
The  bright-winged  creature  swiftly  sailed  on 

high, 
And  he  was  left  to  vaguely  wonder  why 

He  could  not  keep  so  beautiful  a  toy. 

O  sweet,  elusive,  fascinating  joy! 

How  oft  I  think  of  that  brief,  blissful  day 

When  I  had  clasped  you  to  my  heart — almost. 

Vain  was  my  confidence,  my  hope,  my  boast! 
You  spread  your  wings  and  gaily  sped  away, 

And  left  me  gazing  skyward  like  the  boy ! 


81 


FIREWEED 

OFTTIMES  a  fierce,  destructive  forest  fire 

Will  smite  the  helpless  verdure  in  its  track, 
And  passing  leave  a  mound  all  charred  and 
black, 

A  dreary,  barren  waste  which  none  desire; 

And  then  the  zealous  flowers  in  bright  attire 
Will  come  with  gladness  to  supply  the  lack 
Of  beauty,  and  succeed  in  wooing  back 

The  bees  and  birds  to  comfort  this  sad  pyre. 
So  with  my  heart,  when  sorrow  like  a  flame 

Attacked  it  unawares  and  madly  fought 
To  stifle  happiness;  for  then  there  came 

Sweet   buds    of   solace    and   of   love,    which 

brought 
Me  gentle  sympathy  in  God's  own  name, 

And  led  back  peace,   whom  I  in  vain  had 
sought. 


82 


SPRING 

WHEN  first  I  felt  thy  kindly  hands  touch  mine 
My  heart  beat  fast,  nor  dared  I  look  at  thee 
Lest  thou  shouldst  guess,  or  even  chance  to 
see, 

The  quick  blood  coursing  through  my  veins 
like  wine. 

How  shall  I  sing  this  ecstasy  divine  ? 
I  felt  a  captive  thing,  no  longer  free, 
And  yet  I  did  not  long  for  liberty. 

I  listened  to  my  soul  that  talked  with  thine. 

Perplexed  and  angry  with  myself,  I  strove 
To  read  the  riddle,  vainly  questioning, 

"Why  do  the  song-birds  call  me  from  above? 
What  are  the  apple-blossoms  whispering?" 

Then  one  pink  petal  answered,  "This  is  love, 
And  love  is  but  a  sweeter  name  for  Spring." 


83 


WINTER 

THE  earth  is  covered  with  a  snowy  shroud, 
For  all  the  Summer  flowers  are  buried  deep 
As  youth's  departed  joy,  and  wild  winds 

weep 

For  them:  the  trees  and  bushes  once  so  proud 
Are  humbled  now;   their  heads   are  meekly 

bowed ; 
The  frozen  streams  are  lulled  to  dreamless 

sleep ; 

Only  the  stars  a  dreary  vigil  keep 
While  the  cold  moon  is  huddled  'neath  a  cloud. 

A  woman  waits  and  watches  hour  on  hour 
With  face  pressed  close  against  the  win 
dow-pane  ; 
Her  grief  is  dumb;  her  sad  eyes  burn  and 

smart 

With  unshed  tears.    Poor  frost-touched  flower ! 
Her   Summer-time  is   gone,   nor  comes 

again, 
And  Winter,  cruel  Winter,  grips  her  heart. 


84 


LINES  SUGGESTED  BY  A  POR 
TRAIT  OF  MISS  SARAH  PORTER 

BELOVED  teacher,  good  and  true  and  wise ! 
What  is  the  secret  of  unerring  art 
With  which  you  reached  and  touched  each 

pupil's  heart? 

What  is  the  purpose  in  those  earnest  eyes? 
In  vain  we  search  and  strive  to  analyze 

Such  power.    May  that  calm  spirit  now  im 
part 

Serenity  to  us,  whose  tears  must  start 
Remembering  your  joy  in  sacrifice 
For  all  your  daughters,  scattered  east  and 

west. 

We  follow  where  our  recollection  leads, 
To  walk  again  your  ways  of  gentleness, 
And  think  your  thoughts  of  peace.    May  we 

attest 

The  virtue  of  your  touch  by  noble  deeds. 
So  shall  we  prove  the  friendship  we  profess! 


85 


THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH 

"Enamored  Architect  of  Airy  Rhyme" 

HE  laid  foundations  for  a  house  of  dreams 
When  but  a  lad  who  wandered  up  and  down 
The    quiet,    shady    streets    of    Portsmouth 
town; 

The  lyric  structure  grew  with  years;  strong 
beams 

Of  pure  desire  sustained  the  walls;  it  seems 
He  never  thought  of  glory  or  renown, 
But  toiled  for  art,  and  so  he  won  his  crown, 

The  poet's  guerdon,  bright  with  golden  gleams. 

His  touch  was  whimsical,  and  all  his  own. 

He  loved  an  oriel  or  turret  to  enhance 
The    building's    charm.      His    work    was 

delicate, 
Like  that  old  stairway  seen  at  Blois  in 

France, 

A  masterpiece  that  none  can  imitate — 
It  looks  like  cobweb,  yet  is  firm  as  stone. 


86 


SHE  was  indeed  a  nature- worshiper ! 

Think  of  this  woman  kneeling  on  the  beach 
Before  the  dawn,  to  learn  what  God  would 

teach 

Her  spirit  in  the  sunrise !    Think  of  her 
Beneath  the  stars,  this  lonely  islander, 

With  face  aglow,  and  heart  too  full  for 

speech ! 

Think  of  her  garden  by  the  sea,  where  each 
Bright  bloom  was  hailed  as  Heaven's  messen 
ger! 

O  winds  and  waves  that  grieve  at  Appledore, 
She  needs  no  dreary  dirge  or  solemn  knell! 

Her  white-sailed  bark  has  touched  a  distant 

shore, 
That  happy  isle  where  poets  love  to  dwell, 

And  she  has  song  and  friendship  evermore. 
Blow  softly,  sighing  winds,  for  all  is  well ! 


87 


MADISON  J.  CAWEIN 

HE  has  been  likened  to  our  hermit-thrush, 
The  modest  bird  of  shy,  retiring  ways 
Who  in  the  lonely  wood  is  wont  to  raise 

His  voice,  gently  at  first,  then  with  a  rush 

Of  trills  and  ringing  notes,  a  clear,  glad  gush 
Of  purest  ecstasy;  hid  from  man's  gaze, 
He  calmly  chants  his  vesper  hymn  of  praise 

That  ends  with  darkness  in  a  solemn  hush. 

No  living  poets?    Take  his  book  and  read. 

And  spend  an  hour  of  unalloyed  delight! 
Illusion,  legend,  mystery  and  myth — 
These  are  the  charms  this  wizard  conjures 

with, 
Enchantment  lures  him  like  a  moon-lit 

night 
To  follow  where  the  gods  of  beauty  lead. 


88 


DAWN 

MAJESTIC  silence  reigns !  No  sound  shall  mar 
The  regal  entrance  of  our  gracious  queen, 
Whose  fresh  robe  glistens  with  a  dazzling 

sheen, 

And  scintillates  with  dew.    From  near  and  far 

Her  sunbeam  courtiers  ride  in  haste.    "Unbar 

The  gates!"  they  cry.     "Let  morning  pass 

between!" 

With  stately  step  and  calm,  untroubled  mien 

The  fair  Aurora  mounts  her  shining  car: 

Twelve  restive  hours  await  her  first  command; 

She  holds  them  lightly  by  an  amber  chain, 

While  with   a  spendthrift's   free,   unstinting 

hand 
She  flings  her  sparkling  largess  o'er  the 

plain. 

Rejoice,  ye  hills  and  vales,  and  fruitful  land! 
Hyperion's  great  daughter  comes  again! 


89 


NOON 

THE  sun  has  paused  an  instant  overhead 
To  watch  with  glowing  eye  the  upturned 

face 

Of  pensive  earth,  who  lies  with  careless  grace 
Pillowed  on  azure  seas,  and  garlanded 
With   verdure;   Languor   and   Repose   have 

spread 

A  golden  glamour  round  her  resting  place; 
There  Silence  weaves  a  magic  veil  of  lace, 
And  Reverie  has  scattered  buds  that  shed 

A  faint  oppressive  perfume  through  the  air ; 

The  skies  bend  low  to  kiss  her  thoughtful  brow ; 

Some  hidden  spell  enthralls  this  child  of 

light; 

Rapt  in  a  vision  of  the  infinite, 
She  heeds  no  past,  nor  dreads  a  future  care, 
Her  life  the  flawless  Noon,  the  perfect  Now. 


90 


TWILIGHT  AT  YORK  HARBOR 

THE  daylight  loiters  like  a  loving  friend 
Who  lingers  at  the  door  to  say  good-bye; 
The  breeze  has  dwindled  to  a  long-drawn 

sigh; 

The  flowers  nod  with  drowsiness  and  bend 
Their  weary  heads ;  dull  insect  voices  blend 
In  slumber  songs,  and  rise  and  fall  and  die; 
One  bright,  audacious  star  dares  climb  the 

sky; 

Fantastic  coils  of  silver  smoke  ascend 
From  village  roofs;  the  white,  familiar  spire 
Points  upward  like  a  preacher's  warning 

hand; 
The  stillness   grows   intense   as   throbbing 

pain; 
•Too  soon  the  clouds  have  lost  their  lambent 

fire; 
Night  casts  her  mystic  spell  o'er  sea  and 

land; 

Forget    and    dream — dream    and    forget 
again ! 


91 


STARLIGHT 

WHO  has  not  watched  with  wonder  and  delight 

The  coming  of  the  stars,  and  marked  them 
loom 

One  after  one  through  gossamers  of  gloom 
Dropped  from  the  loosened  grasp  of  nodding 

night? 
A  mass  of  tangled  roses,  gold  and  white, 

The  garden  of  the   sky  glows  with  their 
bloom ; 

So  many  and  so  fair,  still  God  finds  room 
For  millions  more  too  faint  for  human  sight! 
Yet  each  one  glorifies  the  rounded  whole, 

And  all  are  needed  in  the  perfect  plan ! 
What  is  their  destiny?    What  distant  pole 

Attracts  this  stately,  silent  caravan 
That  moves  in  solemn  grandeur  to  the  goal," 

Hid  through  the  ages  from  the  mind  of  man? 


92 


NIGHT 

THE  leaden- weighted  hours  seem  long  as  years 
When  one  is  watching,  waiting  for  the  day! 
What  problems  vex  the  brain !  What  doubts 

dismay 
The  troubled  soul!     What  troops  of  dismal 

fears 

Assail  the  courage!  Truth  itself  appears 
Distorted,  half  a  lie!  Odd  fancies  play 
With  facts  in  rings  of  mist;  old  sorrows 

stra;y 
From  out  the  past,  their  faces  drenched  with 

tears ; 

Black  deeds  of  violence,  and  grievous  wrong, 
And  hateful  crimes  that  dread  the  morning 

light 
Stalk    boldly     forth — a    loathsome,    motley 

throng — 

Filled  with  insensate  rage  and  cruel  spite 
Against  the  good,  who  madly  rush  along 
The  thoroughfare  that  leads  to  endless  night. 


93 


GRIEF 

THESE  wild  chimeras  of  a  burdened  mind 

Are  doomed  to  vanish  with  the  cock's  first 
crow. 

Why  should  we  gaze  persistently  at  woe, 
That  well  of  grief,  in  whose  sad  depths  we  find 
Our  own  despair?    Is  this  to  be  resigned 

To  sorrow?    God  has  never  willed  it  so! 

He  never  meant  his  chosen  ones  to  go 
Through  life  with  heads  bowed  low,  ungrate 
ful,  blind 

To  countless  blessings,  blind  to  tasks  that  wait, 
To  needy  ones  that  crouch  before  the  gate, 

To  those  that  long  for  kindness — words  of 

cheer 
And  comfort — words  no  man  can  speak  until, 

Softened  by  suffering,  he  bends  to  hear 
A  voice  that  bids  him  rise  and  do  God's  will. 


94 


TRUST 

I  JOURNEYED  once  in  dreams  through  bound 
less  space, 

Without  a  compass,  chart,  or  reckoning; 
Alone,  adrift,  cut  loose  from  every  thing 
That  I  had  known  on  earth ;  in  some  vast  place 
Apart,  companionless ;  I  hid  my  face 

And  drew  the  darkness  closer,  murmuring, 
I  know  not  why,  a  verse  we  used  to  sing 
Around  our  mother's  knee.    I  seemed  to  trace 
A  form,  to  feel  a  presence  in  the  night; 

A  great,  sustaining  strength  upheld  me 

where 

I  gazed  beyond  a  moving  cloud  of  fears ; 
And  then  at  last — O  miracle  of  sight ! — 

There  rose  the  star  of  trust,  effulgent,  fair, 
And  beautiful  as  love  that  smiles  through 
tears. 


95 


FAITH 

THE  calm  of  nature  tortures  my  sad  heart; 
The  sweet  serenity  of  cloudless  skies 
Mocks  at  my  grief;  the  fierce  sun  terrifies; 

The  stars  are  powerless  to  heal  the  smart; 

The  caroling  of  birds  hurts  like  a  dart; 
The  scarred  and  furrowed  fields  epitomize 
The  universal  pain ;  with  tear-dimmed  eyes 

I  seem  to  view  myself,  their  counterpart. 

Then  Faith  revives,  and  whispers  in  my  ear, 

And  lo!  I  feel  ashamed  of  unbelief — 
The  soul  asserts  itself;  the  heavens  above 
Are  luminous  with  God;  my  way  shines  clear, 
And  I  can  trust  again,  and  wear  my  grief 
With  courage,  proudly,  as  a  badge  of  love. 


96 


HOPE 

BENIGNANT  friend  of  all  the  human  race, 
We  bless  thee  for  thy  constant  help  and 

cheer! 
God  gave  thee  power  to  cast  out  baneful 

fear, 

To  ease  our  loads,  to  flood  the  darkest  place 

With  mellow  sunlight.    Men  will  bravely  face 

The  rudest  shocks  of  life  when  thou  art  near ; 

The  shadowed  road  to  death  becomes  less 

drear 
Since  thou  wilt  travel  with  us  into  space. 

While   cowards   shrink   back  trembling   and 

afraid 

To  step  across  the  threshold,  thou  dost  begin 
The  journey  eagerly,  one  undismayed 

By  doubt,  or  dread  of  unforgiven  sin; 
With  confidence  that  Christ  has  fully  paid 
The  price,  and  hope,  glad  hope,  may  enter 
in! 


97 


CHARITY 

I  SEE  thee  in  a  vision — tall  and  straight 
And  shapely  as  a  lily ;  round  thy  head 
The  sacred  nimbus  glows  and  gleams,  in 
stead 

Of  jeweled  diadem  of  earthly  state. 

Thy  soul,  unsullied,  pure,  immaculate, 

Shines  as  the  stars.     Supernal  light  is  shed 
Upon  thy  way.     Thy  sapphire  cloak  out 
spread, 

Protects  a  host  too  great  to  estimate, 

Whose  sins  are  hid  by  gentle  charity. 

Thou  dost  implant  within  the  human  breast 

Affection  strong,  and  true  and  heavenly. 
Of  all  sweet  tasks  this  is  the  loveliest! 

Most  tender  sister  of  the  wondrous  three, 
Thy  very  name  means  love  made  manifest! 


98 


FREEDOM 

SING  me  a  song  of  gladness  and  content — 
Life  freed  from  fears  that  manacle  with 

chains ; 
Freed  from  distrust,  from  hatred  and  the 

pains 

Of  envy,  freed  from  wailings  and  lament, 
From  galling  memories  of  hours  misspent, 
Freed    from    the    earthy    taint    of    sordid 

gains — 

Yea,  sing  a  sin-freed  life  that  still  retains 
The  fragrance  of  a  garden  innocent. 

4 

Sing  me  a  song  of  freedom,  clear  and  sweet, 
The  great  enfranchisement,  assured,  complete, 
When  the  exultant  spirit  leaves  the  shoal 
Of  doubt,  and  mounts  from  height  to  glitter 
ing  height 

On  wings  of  aspiration  flecked  with  light. 
Yea,  sing  the  manumission  of  a  soul! 


2  3   1956 


DEC 


PS 

3505 

C9175T 


